


Dawn of the Raven

by PardonMyManners



Category: World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Action/Adventure, Coming of Age, F/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:46:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25188154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PardonMyManners/pseuds/PardonMyManners
Summary: Captured by Garrosh's Horde, Anduin Wrynn is ultimately rescued by a mysterious and wild young woman whose path seems inexplicably tied to his. As he struggles to assert his own sense of self outside of his father's long shadow, understanding his brave rescuer will prove an altogether different sort of challenge. One he is not certain he can overcome.
Relationships: Anduin Wrynn/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. Prolouge: A Touch of Destiny

_“Ravens are the birds I'll miss most when I die. If only the darkness into which we must look were composed of the black light of their limber intelligence. If only we did not have to die at all. Instead, become ravens.”_  
_― Louise Erdrich,  _ _The Painted Drum_

\-----

Ablestaff Nightclaw smelled blood.

The scent ran as a dark undercurrent in the crisp evening air as he drew in another long inhale, trying to determine its origin through the maze of the unfamiliar forest around him. His companion, Lymeria, caught the scent as he did, her heckles rising as a low growl rumbled like distant thunder in her breast. He placed a hand along her spine, feeling the familiar ridges beneath thick muscle and pitch-black fur. The young panther settled slightly, resigned to await his command, though the primal desire to hunt radiated through her and into him. The smell of blood excited her.

The young panther had only replaced her mother as his companion a few short summers ago and he still struggled to restrain her more blood thirsty and wild tendencies. She was born of a long line of Darnassian panthers he’d bred to aid him over his extensive, lonely years, and while her aggression was at times irksome, he admired her courageous tenacity. She had the makings of a great hunter. He ran his hand soothingly across her back and over her large, strong head. Her ears flicked intensely, however, not entirely deterred.

Ablestaff studied the shroud of darkness around them, searched it for clues, attempted to untangle its secrets between flashes of pale moonlight between shifting branches. The trees were silent, however, the earth still beneath his feet. The forest had known much horror and the bountiful blessings of nature had receded from it, leaving him disconnected in a way he was unused to. It was a devastation familiar to his people; the legacy of the Scythe of Elune.

He sighed, making his decision.

“Come, little sister, let us discover what foul deeds have transpired this night,” he murmured, unslinging his bow and knocking an arrow as he crept further into the canopy of gnarled trees.

He’d been tracking a pack of Scourge through the forests of Duskwood on a scouting mission. He was not meant to engage, only report back to the human commander of his findings. Something in his heart insisted he investigate, however, something that overwhelmed the trepidation that threatened to settle in his bones and rob him of courage. He was not left to wonder at the motivations of the gods for long as the distinct wail of a child tore through the unnatural stillness.

Lymeria growled and Ablestaff’s heart leapt as he quickened his pace, following the heart-rending sound. It did not take them long to locate the source of both the child and the bloodshed. In a small clearing not far from a nearby road that led from the forests of Stranglethorn to the south, a massacre awaited them. He was no stranger to death and violence, having lived through more wars and conflict than most humans could fathom, but the horror here had a resonance… one that seemed to seep into the ground itself. One he knew would remain for many years to come. Lymeria shook with tension at his side, her every instinct driving her to attack, to hunt, to feed. He fisted a hand in the scruff at the back of her neck in warning.

It was a trading caravan, he thought, taking in the overturned carts and their displaced goods. _Not a robbery,_ he considered distantly _, too much was left behind_. No this was killing for killing’s sake. At least thirty bodies lay strewn across the silvery grass, the moonlight gleaming off pools of blood, discarded weapons, and lifeless faces. The attack had happened not long ago, he thought, stooping to touch the coalescing blood of what he thought may have once been a human woman at his feet. He brushed the blood mated hair from her face and whispered a choked prayer to Elune. So young, he thought, so much left of her short life now taken.

The child wailed again, drawing him from his morbidity. Lymeria leapt forward at the sound, eager for the kill, and Ablestaff reached across their connection to all but immobilize her. She whimpered at the sudden assault and he almost regretted his haste but there had been enough life lost this night. He did not think he could stomach any more.

He found the child seated upright between several mutilated corpses behind one of the overturned carts.

“Ma’ma, ma’ma,” the small creature wailed with such acute misery he felt it like a physical pain in his breast. Tiny hands and arms shoved at the nearest woman; tiny hands and arms that were covered in blood. Memories rose like a dark tide, threatening to drown him, but he closed his eyes for a long moment, willing them back to the deepest parts of his soul where they forever lingered. Ablestaff felt as though some other being had taken control of his body as he picked his way through the carnage and lifted the babe into his arms. The child wore a dress, but it was so covered in dirt and blood he could not discern its color.

 _A girl_ , he thought distantly, as she ceased her wailing, startled by his presence. He examined her carefully, heart pounding, before determining she was, by some miracle, uninjured. He had no sense of human aging, but she was very small, though she appeared to have all her teeth and her mated hair hung down the length of her small back. A pretty silk ribbon had been woven into a braid that had come mostly undone. He touched the end of it gently, sensing a mother’s tender love. The girl had been well cared for. Adored.

The child got over her shock quickly and her lower lip began to tremble, more tears forming in her exhausted eyes. Eyes that were the color of the green-gray leaves of Teldrassil, he thought, transfixed. She reached out as if to strike at him in a fit of childish rage, but instead, at the last moment, gently touched his face just above the long green tangle of his beard with fingers still sticky with her mother’s blood.

A spark ignited between them. A touch of destiny, he thought in a daze, as they stared at one another beneath the cold glare of the moon. The child must have felt it too because she stilled, tears momentarily forgotten as she took him in with wide, curious eyes.

 _We are bound together now,_ he acknowledged, not fighting the connection that radiated between them with undeniable certainty. Long life had granted him that much wisdom, at least. He sensed the touch of nature within her small frame, recognized a kindred spirit of the earth father and moon mother.

He tipped forward and pressed his forehead to hers, holding her close and safe in his arms, shielding her from the death and terror around them. “Blessings be upon you little one,” he murmured, “the goddess has led me to you, and I will protect you in her name.”

Eased tremendously by his presence, the child immediately wavered with exhaustion, drooping into a near faint. Ablestaff gently tucked her into the crook of his arm, positioning her head carefully as he quickly fashioned a sling with his cloak. Once done, he knelt beside the girl’s mother and whispered a blessing over her body, hesitating for a moment before setting aside his bow and drawing his knife. Carefully, he cut a leather tie from around the dead woman’s neck, freeing a small talisman that bore the impression of a raven, swords crossed beneath its talons.

“Perhaps we were meant to find one another, little one,” he murmured to the sleeping child against his chest. Her small hand was tucked up under her chin, pressed against his heart. He slipped the talisman into the pocket of his leather vest as Lymeria came to snuffle with interest at the bundle. He smoothed a hand over her powerful jaw.

“Come, we’ll have time for introductions later, we must leave this place-“

A rustle to his left had him reaching for his bow, arrow already drawn. Lymeria snarled in warning but too late, Ablestaff knew he had lingered too long. Three undead, more skeleton than anything resembling once living creatures, ambled into the moonlight. Recognizing that his bow would be of little use against bone and magic, he quickly slung it over his back and took off at a sprint. Lymeria stayed by his side as more enemies stirred in the night. Grotesque shadows shifting between unfamiliar trees as he wound a protective arm around his precious cargo.

He smelled the Abomination before he heard it. The sick-sweet smell of decay. The familiar reverberation of it’s terrible stomping gait that drew upon old nightmares. The creature lay behind them, he knew, but was now in pursuit.

“Lymeria,” he called, alerting her to his commands. She lopped easily at his side, eager for action, and he sent her off into the woods with a firm mental command: _Kill all in our path_.

He could not hope to take the monster alone, particularly hampered by a child. He had to hope he might escape.

Lymeria snarled in the darkness, the sound one of satisfaction rather than fear. She relished in the chase, in the hunt. The smell of death grew stronger and a gargled roar resounded far too near. He didn’t dare turn. Ablestaff darted suddenly left, following the position of the moon toward the human settlement, praying the creature wouldn’t have the courage to follow where it must know soldiers waited.

Lymeria roared a warning and Ablestaff ducked and rolled, clutching the little girl desperately against him as one horrible meaty appendage missed him by mere inches. He caught flashes of decaying flesh, stacked and stitched together in a terrible approximation of life. The creature was at least nine feet tall and its oozing visage crashed through the branches as Ablestaff gained his feet. Fear was pressing in on him, but he resolutely ignored it. Fear meant death.

He scrambled through the brush, Lymeria leading the way through the darkness as he sent a desperate prayer to Elune. _Not for me. For this little life, oh goddess. She has suffered so much already. Spare her, goddess, please._

His heart was pounding so fiercely in his ears he couldn’t be certain if the Abomination still followed as he broke out of the tree line at a full sprint. The old cobblestones of the once well-kept road slapped beneath his boots. Lymeria circled him with anxious and bounding leaps as he made for the faint glow of the ruined town in the distance.

As he crested the rise, two guards leveled a pair of crossbows at him. Ablestaff shouted his name and purpose, hands raised, forcing himself to slow his pace. Their weapons remained taunt until he entered the circle of firelight thrown by wavering torches. He was out of breath and he resisted the urge to check the child hidden within the folds of his cloak. She had remained silent and still through the entire ordeal, which had been a blessing considering the circumstances, but now worried him. But he found that he did not yet want to draw attention to her. Something about the nature of the attack had made him uneasy.

“I have news for the Commander, please let me pass,” he said in common, hands still raised. The Night Watch were a deeply suspicious order and the two guards exchanged a long, uncertain look.

“Whats that ‘round your chest,” one asked, eyes narrowed in the darkness, trying to peer closer.

“An injured owl,” he said immediately and very nearly regretted it because it was such a poor lie, until he realized the guards seemed to accept this response. They did not understand his people nor their customs; they likely dismissed it as some strange elven stroke of compassion, he thought. Indeed, the humans here generally gave he and the other members of the Kaldorei contingent a wide birth.

“Very well,” the other guard said in a gruff voice. “Hurry on, the undead are restless.”

 _You have no idea_ , he thought wearily, and gratefully entered the relatively well guarded, if not dilapidated, town center. He stopped, however, to gaze back into the darkness, looking for any sign of the Abomination in the gloom, but saw nothing. Still, he felt… something out there, something watching. Waiting. Lymeria growled softly, telling him it was not his imagination, and he shivered and turned away.

The Alliance commander would be awaiting his report in the Town Hall, but Ablestaff turned instead toward the western edge of the town, where he and the druid, Fellenris, had set up camp. Fellenris had come to study and examine the Twilight Grove; another vain attempt to better understand why such natural protections pervaded the area but could not be utilized to banish the darkness throughout the rest of the region. Many such expeditions had been undertaken in the past, to little avail. Aware of this fact, Fellenris had instead utilized much of her time collecting human historical information and scouting through the terrifying countryside. She was mildly obsessed with human lore and culture. An obsession that made her something of an oddity among their own people but also made her uniquely suitable for working closely with the human leaders of the Alliance.

He found her in their shared tent, bent over a small travel desk as she studied a scroll by the light of an old lantern. Her face was placid, smooth and lovely, her ruffled hair as white as moonlight. She smelled of herbs and leather, the scent filling the small space like a physical being. It was a smell Ablestaff associated with druids.

She did not look up as he entered.

“Did you find the Scourge the humans are after?” she asked, dipping her quill in a pot of ink and scratching something on a slip of parchment.

“Yes,” he said simply, but his tone must have given him away because she looked to him immediately, fair brow furrowed in concern. He liked Fellenris, she was brash and uninterested in the machinations of politics between the races. She was also several hundred years older than he and her council was usually well founded.

“What is that?” she asked, motioning with her head to the buddle against his chest, and rose to her feet. The rustle of her magic tickled at him, exploring, and she answered before he could.

“A child!” she exclaimed, and rushed forward, pulling back the folds of his cloak before he might caution her. “A _human_ child.”

Ablestaff sighed. “She was the only survivor of an attack on a human caravan. I counted at least thirty dead.”

Fellenris hissed a curse and reached out with a faintly glowing hand to touch the child’s cheek. “She is uninjured,” she said softly, her voice full of pity, “but her spirit has taken a beating. Fortunately, humans are quicker to recover from such things than our own kind, and children doubly so. With time and care, she will be well again.”

Ablestaff said nothing as he undid his cloak and gently, carefully, laid the child out on his cot.

“She is filthy,” Fellenris noted, nose wrinkled. “I will bathe her.”

Ablestaff nodded, studying the tiny, helpless form, heart aching for her. It had been many long years since something had affected him so deeply.

“I must speak to the Commander of what has happened.”

“I will watch over her, fear not.”

He gently touched the ribbon in the child’s reddish brown hair. “There was something about the attack that was… troubling.”

“Aside from the mutilated dead, you mean?” she asked dryly. Sarcasm was generally a human undertaking but Fellenris had long since adopted it as her own.

“Yes.”

He turned aside and donned his cloak once again as Fellenris went about heating some water in bowl using a heating stone.

“Surely a Scourge attack is bad enough.”

He hesitated, considering the horrible scene anew. “I think… I think perhaps it was made to appear as though the Scourge attacked.”

Fellenris paused in her preparations. “Who would do such a thing? The Horde?”

Ablestaff shook his head. “I do not know, but… keep her presence here quiet if you can.”

The druid frowned, watching the sleeping child across the tent for a long moment before nodding her head.

\-----

“An Abomination, you say?” Commander Gothe stoked his mustache thoughtfully, pacing behind his desk in the low lamp light.

The shorter man still wore his full armor, the lion of the Alliance emblazoned in brilliant gold across his finely sewn tabard. It was not an item of standard issue –Ablestaff himself had one of the more mass produced variety- and was clearly meant to convey his stature and importance. Dozens of scrolls, and several piles of parchment littered the desktop before him. A quill sat upright in a jar of ink.

“Yes,” Ablestaff said, watching the human commander closely. He did not know the man well, but he seemed a hard and egotistical sort of man. “Skeletal undead as well. It is possible they were responsible for the attack on the caravan.”

Gothe waved a gauntleted hand, dismissive. “Of course they were, unholy bastards.” The man paused in his pacing and leveled Ablestaff with an imploring stare. “And you are sure there were no survivors.”

Something in the Commander’s voice, in the set of his jaw, made the lie come easily. “No, there were no survivors. I made sure of it.”

A slight drop in the Commander’s shoulders gave away his relief. Ablestaff might have missed it had he not already been wary. His heart sank in his breast at the implications.

“A shame, of course. But these are dangerous times,” he said with a heavy but rather insincere sigh. “I will send my men to investigate this attack. You did well, Night Elf.” Gothe shuffled in one of his desk drawers for a moment before throwing a small bag of coins his way. Ablestaff had to resist the desire to hurl the blood money back in the man’s face.

He swallowed his pride and lifted his chin, thinking of the child he’d saved and her safety. “Of course, Commander. Good evening.”

Gothe waved him away with one hand, already settling back to his paperwork, clearly done with him. Ablestaff turned on his heel, fighting the sudden and strange urge to run.

\-----

“We need to leave. Now.” Ablestaff said by way of greeting as he swept into the tent. He immediately began gathering what few possessions he’d brought with him and shoved them in his pack. Fellenris sat at the child’s side, having managed to clean the worst of the blood from the little girl’s pale hands and face. The druid dropped the bloody cloth in her hands into the bowl and rose to her feet.

“The child-“

“She comes with us.”

Fellenris stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm, her face pained. “Ablestaff… she cannot come with us. She belongs with her people-“

Anger rose. Not at her, but at that cruelty of the world. At the unfairness of it all. Were things not bad enough? Must they to stoop to murder and subterfuge amongst themselves? His tone was harsh when he spoke, laced with bitterness. “Her _people_ want her dead, Fellenris. We must get her away from here before it’s too late.”

The druidess’s eyes narrowed, searching his face. Like many of her kind, she was incredibly and often alarmingly perceptive. They had known each other for centuries, had even become friends over the past few decades and he had few friends left to him. She knew his nature better than most. “You’re certain?” she asked quietly.

He reigned his temper in with a long exhale. “Goeth knew of the attack. I could tell. She isn’t safe here.” His tone had turned almost pleading.

Fellenris considered this for a moment, expression darkening, before giving him a decisive nod. “Very well, I will soothe the child so she will not wake on the journey. If we can make it to the Twilight Grove I believe I can get us through to Darnassus.”

“Good,” he said with a curt nod, trying to contain his sense of relief, and he used his spare cloak to create a sling for the child. They would leave the tent behind, he decided, it would buy them a bit more time.

Fellenris began gathering her things in earnest. “What do you mean to do with her? There are human settlements where she might find a home… they need not know where she came from.”

Ablestaff drew the child into his arms, settling her loose limbs carefully against him. She was so delicate and small and he felt overwhelmingly protective of her. “I will care for her,” he said quietly, tugging the fold of his cloak over her and tightening the knot at his shoulder.

“Ablestaff I don’t-“

“The goddess, she-she led me to her,” he insisted with uncharacteristic passion. He was a private, serious man. “I can feel it in my very _bones_. There is something special about the girl. She needs me…”

Something like sympathy passed over the druidess’s face as she turned away, shoving her bedroll into her pack and throwing it over her slight shoulder. The papers from the table she gathered and tucked into a fold of her long robes. He knew she was thinking of the family he’d lost, that he would use the child to somehow replace them, but she was mistaken. There was another void he sought to fill, another wrong he’d spent many years trying to right. He would never be the same man he’d been before the deaths of his loved ones and everything that had followed after, no matter how long he lived, but the child… the child might bring him just as much good as he might bring her.

Fellenris gave him a slightly sardonic smile as she threw her hood up and over her head, her eyes gleaming like stars from the shadows. “Well, between you and I, I hate this accursed place.” She reached out a hand to him. “Let’s go home.”


	2. Chapter 2

** Chapter One ** **: The Foolishness of Youth**

A massive storm loomed just off the western coast of Panderia as the sun set on the Alliance base nestled along the tree-lined shore. The base was still largely under construction, but several rudimentary structures had been erected to house Alliance troops and officials within the embrace of the more imposing and ancient Pandarian structures. Construction had taken on a frenzied sort of urgency within the last few days, however, as High King Varian was due to arrive within a few short weeks.

Fellenris Moonleaf had been provided with one of these small structures to better facilitate her indispensable alchemical projects as well as offer a semblance of privacy when she was not slaving away in the medical hospital that had been one of the first things to be properly erected. Her temporary home provided only two rooms. The larger living space housed a massive fireplace –complete with bubbling cauldron- and several large scroll strewn tables and many shelves that housed her potions and herbal collections. The other half of the small building contained two cots, one for herself and another for her ward and assistant who was already abed. Presently, Fellenris was asleep in the larger room, seated at her writing desk with her face mashed against the side of her arm, drooling on her personal journal. She had worked nearly four days straight at the hospital, tending the ill and wounded, but even a druid had her limits.

A sharp knock on the door of her humble dwelling had her snorting into wakefulness.

Fellenris swiped blurrily at the moisture on her chin as the knock came again, more sharply this time. She’d left very strict instructions with the healing staff that unless Varian Wyrnn himself arrived on the brink of death, she was not to be bothered for at least twelve hours. She suspected this was not the case, however, and thus Admiral Taylor was greeted by the rather alarming sight of a tall Kaldorei druidess in a rumpled tunic and trousers, almost comically messy hair, and murder in her gleaming eyes. The residual sheen of drool along her jaw gave him some hope of not being immediately disemboweled. Did Night Elves commonly drool? Fellenris was like no other Kaldorei woman he’d ever met –she cursed like a sailor and typically drank like one as well.

“I uh, am sorry to disturb you Lady Moonleaf,” he said with an uncertain cough into his hand –he was never sure how to address her- and resisted the urge to take a step back as her eyes narrowed dangerously. Fellenris was one of the best healers he’d ever encountered, particularly on the battlefield, and they’d come to rely on her heavily. Perhaps _too_ heavily if the weariness in her face and shoulders were any indication.

“What can I do for you, Admiral,” she all but snapped.

“We have encountered a bit of a… situation, with the, uh, White Pawn,” he mumbled, still chafing at the news.

Something like amusement twitched at the corner of her full lips. “You lost him again, didn’t you?”

Taylor flushed at this accusation. “He intentionally eluded our agents-“

“Again.”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “And this time we believe he may have fallen into the hands of the Horde.”

Fellenris stop smiling and deflated, stepping back and waving him into her temporary home with an air of defeat. The smell of her little cottage was… intense and Taylor resisted the urge to cover his mouth and nose as his eyes watered. It wasn’t _bad_ precisely, just intense. The potions she brewed were far too valuable for him to dare make a comment as the druid cleared the books and scrolls of a wobbly looking chair near the fire, grumbling under her breath.

“I’m not sure what you expect me to do about your little problem… Admiral,” she said in a quiet voice, glancing at the heavy curtain that separated the main room from the sleeping area.

Taylor slumped into a chair, allowing some of the ‘Admiralty’ to leak out of him. Fellenris was not truly at his command; she was more a… volunteer –a renowned and valuable volunteer. The inability to give her real orders was a balm to his over taxed nerves, in fact. It also allowed him to be honest with her.

“We want to put together an elite team –we’ve several other agents we’re attempting to call in as part of a rescue mission. With the tension rising between the Hozen and the Jinyu, we are stretched far too thin as it is.”

Fellenris collapsed in the chair opposite him, sweeping her long, haphazardly braided hair over her shoulder. Like many of her people, she had no preoccupation with modesty and the ties of her shirt hung lose and open, giving ample visual evidence of her breasts beneath the otherwise unflattering garment. To this end, Taylor ensured his eyes never left the druid’s face for fear of swift and violent reprisal. Fellenris might have been a healer by trade, but he had enough experience with druids to know that their talents were many and their near animal aggression was not to be tested.

“And you want me to join this team?” She sounded weary. Resigned.

Taylor felt almost guilty as he nodded, but there were very few he could trust with such a mission. Fellenris’s loyalty to the Alliance was unquestionable, despite –or perhaps because- of her oddities. She had served alongside Stormwind very nearly from the start, and while she made it easy to forget her age at times, the wealth and hardships of her years occasionally reflected in her moonlit eyes –a reminder that for all his station of command, she knew far more of the world than he ever would.

She looked off toward the fire, pale face gleaming gold. “That storm will slow us down, how long till the others arrive?”

“Not until dawn, at the earliest. They are rather… flung afield at present.”

Fellenris shook her head. “It will be too late by then. The storm will be here sometime tonight and, by the looks of it, it’ll be a persistent one. Perhaps if I head out alone-“

“No, I can’t allow that,” he said immediately and without thinking. She raised one long brow at him and he corrected himself quickly. “I, uh, mean that I really cannot support such a venture. These lands are wild and dangerous and we still know so little about them. I would not risk losing you in the process.”

“Surely the rescue of the Pr- excuse me, of the _white pawn_ ,” she said this with an exaggerated air that left no suspicion about her feelings ofcthe term, “is more important than the life of one wayward druid. I assure you, I am very resourceful.”

Taylor did not doubt this in the slightest. Still, it would very likely be a suicide mission, and though he could not directly order her to remain, he could at least try to reason with her.

“Our forward camps are already sending out scouting parties to ensure the White Pawn is safe. It is very likely no one in the Horde will recognize him.”

Fellenris sniffed indelicately. “Careful, Admiral, you risk underestimating your enemy and that is a dangerous thing to do in your line of work.”

Taylor rankled at that, but managed to suppress his irritation. “I believe we should wait until the other members of the team arrive, that is all, Lady Moonleaf.”

The druid considered this for along moment, staring into low the flames of the hearth fire. Some mysterious potion bubbled in the cauldron set above it. “I will wait till dawn,” she said at last, unfathomable gaze rendering him motionless, “but then I leave, team or no team, storm or no storm.”

Realizing he had very little choice in the matter, he comforted himself with a decisive nod. Looking for something less… terrifying to talk about he asked, “How is your ward?” There must have been something in his tone, some hint of his disapproval because she frowned at him.

“Kel is… adapting. I know she has been something of a nuisance-“

“She refuses to abide by curfew rules and punched Captain Ardel in the face.”

Fellenris looked very much like she were trying to hide her amusement. “Yes, well, she is still adjusting… she is not used to human society.”

“But she _is_ human,” he protested, aware this made very little difference but he’d been increasingly agitated by the young woman’s presence. Had she been the ward of anyone else, he’d have shipped her back to Stormwind by now. She’d also broken poor Ardel’s nose.

“Yes, that is why I insisted on her accompanying me,” the druid said and rose to her feet. She poured brandy into two earthenware mugs and Taylor accepted his gratefully.

“You still haven’t told me who she is, not really” he said carefully. Fellenris was very protective of the girl and did not welcome undue curiosity.

“She is the daughter of a good friend,” she said slowly

“A half-breed?”

She gave him a sharp look over the rim of her mug and shook her head. Half-breeds between Night Elf and Humans were very rare. Something to do with gestation cycles or some other such nonsense that Taylor didn’t trouble himself with. “No, she was… adopted I suppose. Ablestaff found her wandering the wilds and took her in.”

Taylor started in shock. “ _The_ Ablestaff? Ablestaff _Nightclaw_?”

Fellenris smirked a bit. “Yes, I imagine so.”

Taylor pondered this carefully as he sipped at his brandy. “I did not think the Night Elves were in the habit of….”

“Taking in strays?”

“Essentially.”

Fellenris drained her mug and sighed. “Ablestaff contended with Tyrande herself for permission. He would not be swayed and she needed him desperately for the training of new recruits. Kel is well loved by those who know her, but her place is ultimately with her own kind. It was time.”

There was a tension in her shoulders, a hesitation in her voice that told Taylor that she was not entirely comfortable with this line of questioning. The girl was a mystery and he knew there was more to her tale. He also knew Fellenris was not the sort to offer personal information unduly. He'd gain nothing by pressing her, so instead he drained his mug in turn and set it aside.

“I’ll let you get back to your rest then. Sorry for the disturbance… if only things were more stable… if only he would stop-“

“Escaping his gilded cage?”

Her tone sounded almost disapproving and Taylor shrugged. “The King only wishes-“

“To protect him, yes, I know,” she waved a hand dismissively, “but there is a fine line between protection and repression.”

Taylor sighed. “I only follow orders, of course, and I do wish he’d stop mind controlling everyone. It is very inconvenient at present.”

Fellenris smirked and moved to show him out. “Don’t worry, Taylor, I’ll bring him back in one piece. And perhaps, if we’re lucky, he’ll have learnt a valuable lesson.”

Taylor scoffed as he stepped into the night, the air cool and thick with rising humidity. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, flashes of light illuminating clouds that hung like a shroud over the sea. He missed home, missed the familiar coastlines and predictable seas. “I sincerely doubt that,” he said absently, “but miracles can happen, I suppose.”

Fellenris patted him gently on the shoulder and he did not miss the flash of pity in her eyes. Life had taken a very strange turn of events but he was nothing if he was not adaptable, he supposed.

“Good night, Admiral Taylor.”

He dipped his head with a small smile. “Goodnight, Lady Moonleaf.”

Fellenris closed the door with a sigh and went about banking the fire, checking the potion brewing in her cauldron and gathering what few items she would need for her journey in the morning. Mentally she made all manner of plans, attempting to consider all possibilities as she stuffed items into satchels and collected potions from her shelves. Once done she resolved to get a few hours of sleep if she could manage it, sparing only a brief glance at the other cot in the room, observing the human shaped lump there and falling quickly into a dreamless sleep. Had she been less weary and distracted, she might have noticed the lump was smaller than it ought to have been and distinctly lacked all hint of breathing.

\------

Picking her way easily through the dense forest, Kelastria Nightclaw turned her face to the pale shape of the moon as it peeked between the wide leaves of the branches above. Irisel pressed against her side, purring encouragement as Kel ran an absent hand over the Nightsaber’s head and scratched behind her large ears. Her father had sent Irisel along with Kel after Fell had managed –with much effort and cajoling- to talk him into letting her tag along on the journey to Pandaria.

 _At least Irisel will know what to do with you,_ he’d said in his typically gruff manner. He’d been less than thrilled by her instance on leaving home, but he’d never understood her desire to get away. Had never understood how she could feel out of place among her adopted people.

 _Finally_ , she thought triumphantly, pushing away old wounds, _a chance to prove myself_. She’d spent months lingering in Fell’s shadow, desperate for some moment, some opportunity to show people she was destined for more than just pulling weeds out of the forest and scouting down game.

 _Rescuing a spoilt human prince ought to get their attention,_ she thought ruefully, smiling all the while. Her father was the best and most renowned tracker in Azeroth and he’d been teaching her his trade all her life.

She adjusted her bow across her back –a gift from her father several name days ago –and ensured all her knives were securely in place before taking off into the darkness, Irisel lopping easily beside her. They were both eager for the hunt.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are lovely and so are you!


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